Hold Me In Your Memory
by classic99lady00
Summary: A slave girl's common fate becomes entwined with the fate of heroes.
1. Daughter

My father did not have the fortune of sons, and so my seven sisters and I were made useful to him. During our childhood, from the gray mornings, through the blue days, and to the black nights, we were set to crafting the tools of war: burning our hair and tunics heating the forges, rubbing our fingers raw and calloused on the sharpening block, hefting the iron hammers to the anvil for our father's use, piercing our skin with the needles and knives as we sewed the plates to leather armor. In some ways, we were better than sons, for our fingers were nimble despite their abuse and could attach detail to our work that made other smiths in the land envious of our father.

But since I did not have the fortune of an ugly face, I was made of even further use when my malnourished frame gained the appearance of a woman's.

"Syntyche," my mother said angrily, grabbing hold of my arm as I began to cry once again. "Women do not have the luxury of a lifelong home. They leave their parents and make a home wherever they must. Such is the world. Now quiet your tears, they ruin your face."

"Mother, please!" I begged, tugging on her hand. "Tell father... I have and I always will work as a slave for him! Please, don't send me away! I'll marry whomever he chooses! Just don't send me away!" I would've fallen to my knees if I didn't know she would continue to drag me after her.

"Your father has already chosen this for you, Syntyche!" Mother hissed, winding her hand tighter around my arm so that it pinched. "He'd be here himself if he didn't have to pick up the slack you'll be leaving. Now, hush! Dry your eyes!" She brought her brown, calloused hand to my face and wiped at it carelessly, bruising my cheeks as I sniffed and hiccuped miserably.

The slave market was held only once a year. My mother and I had had to travel through the night to make it to the city this day and she would return without me tonight, taking my price with her as dowery for my eldest sister. Her husband would be taking my place in the forges.

The resentment soured in my soul. There were men in our village who'd marry me without a dowery; they'd said as much to me as I pleasured them with my mouth and hands, seeking for extra coin for my father's purse. I needn't be sent away, to a foreign land, far from any place I've ever loved. I could gather a husband for the forges without loosing any of my sisters! The angry fire in my belly turned to more tears as we walked the crowded streets.

A dirty man with missing teeth and discordantly rich robes welcomed us to the market, bidding my mother to name her goods so that he could offer a price. My mother tried to ignore him, pushing past him with her stocky, stout frame, but he grabbed my other arm, forcing us to stop.

"This is a lovely piece of flesh, woman," he told my mother, running a greasy hand over my twisted, plaited hair. His breath stunk of spirits. "She would make a fine addition to my house of girls. I wouldn't want you to be cheated of a worthy price, that of which I can offer."

"My prettiest girl is worth more than you can afford, brothel merchant," my mother snarled, yanking me painfully out of his grip and leading me away.

Was that to be my fate? Was I to be made useful to many men and yet no single man would remember me, to be made a mother of bastards and thrown out when age turned my gifts to naught?

Mother suddenly stopped us, pulling my face up to look in her suddenly tearful, dull brown eyes. "You will be treated well, daughter, for the price you will gather. That, I assure you. If you work as you have for your father and I, do as your told, and take care of that pretty face and body, you will do well. You are a good girl, my Syntyche. It is a pity you were not my son, for I will miss you." With that, she snatched up my hand and led me away.

My mother knew of a famous merchant, who traveled and often sold to the kings of Greece and their men. Only the best of slaves were considered by him and my mother was convinced he would want me for his stock.

She found his train of tents in the center of the market, abuzz with activity and people and livestock.

"State your reasons for being here, woman," one guard asked lazily.

"I'm seeking to sell," my mother said clearly, gesturing to me. "On behalf of my husband."

The guard looked at me, seeming to judge my worth by one quick glance down my body. "Ask for Preitus, inside the first tent."

"I thank you, good sir," mother answered, walking me passed him.

Preitus was small and fat, shorter than even my mother. His robes were so brightly colored and they smelled of clean, wheaten flowers while he smelled of sweat and rotting food. The combination was nauseating to a girl who was accustomed to the uninhibited smell of a man from the forges or the fields. He sat at a table littered with skins and scrolls, holding a stick that left stains wherever he put it to a surface. It took a moment of watching him before I realized that he was writing words, something so completely foreign to my home life that I felt my future leaving my comprehension.

When he'd finished with a previous man, his servant waved my mother forward.

"What is it you wish?" Preitus asked, looking on my mother with hooded, heavy eyes.

My mother was intimidated, but she hid it well. "My prettiest daughter, my lord, to be of use to the men you sell to."

Preitus sighed, standing with a slight groan and walking to stand before me. My mother fell back as he reached out to lift my hair from my face and my lips from my teeth. "A very fine face..." he muttered, pulling my arms out to inspect my hands. "A little wild, I'd think..."

"She is a hard worker, my lord," my mother interrupted.

"Be still, woman," Preitus said, not ungently. "Allow me to finish." He began to pull at my clothing and I shied away from his soft, flabby hands, but he did not stop until I was standing naked before him, with my hands in his so I could not shield myself from his calculating, soulless eyes.

"Young," he appraised. "How old are you, child?"

I was shaking, unable to open my mouth.

"This is her fifteenth summer, my lord," my mother answered for me.

"And has a man taken you yet?"

I looked up at him, shocked, and began to shake my head.

Preitus nodded and released my hands, turning back to his table of scrolls. He sat again with an airy huff, then began writing as he looked me over once more, "You may dress yourself."

I bent and hurriedly pulled my tunic up around my body, still trembling uncontrollably.

"You, woman," he gestured to my mother, waving her over to stand beside me again. "Does this girl have a father?"

"She does, my lord," my mother nodded. "Euraclidas is his name."

"Why does he not present himself today?"

"He is but a poor smith, my lord, with no sons and no money to hire," my mother explained. "I am here in his stead so that he does not suffer delays."

Preitus didn't react other than to write more in his scroll.

"She has experience in the forge, my lord," my mother said, "and much knowledge in the ways of smithing, though she be but a girl."

Preitus's eyebrows did raise up his forehead, but he just continued to write for what seemed a lifetime while I refastened my tunic with shaking hands.

"I do believe I could find a profit for her," he finally said, sealing my fate.


	2. Stock

Preitus' men took me, one by each arm, as he paid my mother 85 gold pieces, enough to pay even two dowries. I could not keep the devastated, angry glare from my eyes as she looked at me, before I was whisked away. A hard woman, my mother was, as she'd learned young the place of women in this world. But I was still young and the world had not yet made me so jaded, though I was fast becoming so.

I never saw my mother, father, or sisters again.

Since I wasn't to be valued for my strength or endurance, I was set in a cart with other girls and women, the men and boys tied in lines behind it. None of them looked on me with any pity, and why should they? They were of my same fate, all destined to serve some stranger who was able to pay the price.

For the weeks that followed, I did not have a name. Not a soul spoke to me other than to bid me to drink and eat. I grew filthy and thin. My hands and lips became cracked. My wrists were rubbed raw from my bindings. My legs were cramped and sore.

The tears stopped falling after my third day of travel, unable to squeeze past my exhaustion. I watched the land pass away under us, leaving the hills that were my home for the strange sands of a desert and then to more, alien hills with trees of a different shape and name.

I lost count of the days we traveled, but when we finally stopped in a new city and I was untied to help prepare the tents, my legs were uncooperative. The man who untied me had little patience and dragged me to my feet by my matted hair, but he didn't hit me as I might've expected. Perhaps so I didn't bruise.

With the preparations set and Preitus' men and women made comfortable, I and the rest of the slaves were filed through a line so that we could be washed. Like horses and sheep before auction. My hair was ripped free of its braids and drenched in water, a comb yanked through it without sympathy for its natural curls. My skin was scrubbed so vigorously that it shone red in some places and the fine hairs on my arms and legs were nearly completely gone. The completion of my bath ended with an iron collar that locked loosely around my neck, a ring set in the front so that I could be led around by a rope. My degradation did not have much further to go.

As I was being ushered back into the tent where the women were being guarded, a server woman in the fine robes of Preitus' entourage appeared to take me away, joking and flirting harmlessly with the guards as she led me away. She did not tell me where I was going and I did not ask.

We arrived at another tent, this one only slightly finer than the previous one. There, I was stripped of my ragged, stained tunic and wiped all over with rags that were soaked in sweet-smelling oils, my hair hurriedly and messily styled away from my face. Then I was wrapped in a loose white robe that allowed my arms and collarbones to be seen, and pushed to stand with the other girls huddled in the back of the tent, all dressed in a similar robe with their hair in the same sort of organized disarray.

"Eat," a fine-looking woman told me, handing me a roll of hard, grainy bread that I all but devoured.

I was thoroughly miserable and bewildered now, as I waited for I didn't know what. My entire body ached and I missed my sisters, my mother, my father; I missed the cool windy air of my home, the fierce blaze of the forge, the stretch of my muscles as I hefted the heavy shields and swords for my father's repair. But, though the tears burned in my eyes and threatened to spill, I didn't let myself cry. My mother's words became a mantra in my head: "Work hard. Do as you're told. Take care of your face and body. You will do well."

As the sun neared the center of the sky, the guards came through with a length of rope, stacking the girls up with the rope through our collars, and then we were led out to the wooden platform erected in front of Preitus' tent, jostled against one another, trying not to trip on each other's robes. A tall man with a loud, long, clear voice stood at the top, beckoning the passersby to stop and take a look at the slaves his master sold.

Hours of hot sun and yelling ensued. Thrice during the rush of midday, a different, richly-clothed man stopped to peer into my eyes and pinch and prod at my body before moving on. I tried not to protest, to not call the attention of the guards, but I did not flaunt myself as my sellers might have wished. A line of sweat drew down from my temple to my chin and I left it to dry, focusing on the crust it left in its wake, thinking that my tears must find their trails in my sweat for I would not allow them their usual route.

I recognized Preitus as he walked by once throughout the day, but he did not even glance up at the line of girls where I stood. He was speaking reverently to a tall, handsome man. The stranger's garb was plain and efficient, but not lacking in quality. I noticed him for his silvery, icy eyes and smooth, warrior's gait.

One man stood in front of me and haggled over my price for a few minutes before moving on, taking a girl from further down the line.

Memories flitted through my mind as I stared at the stone beneath my bare, torn feet: I could hear my sister, Zomira, singing to the beat of my father's hammer, in between the hisses of the red-hot iron as it was plunged into water.

The girls on either side of me were taken by a highly-powdered, elderly woman who had a train of similar, flaxen-haired girls trailing behind her litter.

I remembered Tidres' childish promises of love as we fondled and kissed in the stables at midnight, and I remembered his wedding celebration only days after.

A messenger boy, not much younger than my youngest sister, Bernice, looked up to me as he was about to pass. He cocked his head curiously at me, then hurried on.

The sky cooled and darkened as the day progressed, and I was still tethered like a dog with the remaining girls, neither anxious nor relieved that I hadn't been chosen and paid for. I was nearly dropping with fatigue, the muscles in my emaciated legs beginning to quiver. My heart was too weak to grieve any longer this day and my head was stuffed and hot with the hours of sun that had beaten down upon it, without the relief of my tears.

My family would be sitting to their meal now, my sisters throwing jokes and squabbling among themselves while my father wolfed down his food and my mother tried to keep some semblance of order, serving her savory stew and bread, flavored with herbs she bought from Old Hima down the hill.

As the salty moisture threatened and burned in my eyes, I slowly became aware of a commotion coming down from Preitus' tent, the well-dressed servants scurrying around, ushering the crowds of curious children away.

I was aware of all this, but my head was so heavy that I did not understand exactly what was happening.

I recognized Preitus and I recognized the man from before, the man that Preitus had been talking to, with silver eyes. He was standing somewhat away and behind the others, watching carefully. I wondered what his history might've been, who he lived his life for and the places that he saw in his dreams; those wise, silver eyes must've seen many places.

"What is her parentage?"

I flinched and brought my lacking attention to the man who'd come to stand directly in front of me. My eyes were swimming with the orange sunset that flooded the sky behind him; I could not focus on his face.

"She is the daughter of a smith, my lord," Preitus told him. "I bought her only two weeks ago, as I was passing through Reima, as I recall."

"And her name?"

"I'm sure, you will have to ask her," Preitus said sheepishly.

"Well, girl? What is your name?"

I opened my mouth, my heart in my throat, and choked, "Syn... Syntyche... m-mmmy lord."

A hard hand pushed my chin up and I guessed that he was examining me, though I could not return his gaze. I very nearly fainted.

"She is a beauty, for sure," he said, releasing me so abruptly that I swayed, blinking away unconsciousness. "Though a little worse for wear, I think. She is barely staying upright." He sounded amused.

"She is unused to the climate, is all. Just a day and she'll be to her full strength. If you do choose to take her, I will be waiting out the week here in the city, if you should find any fault. That goes for any stock you might purchase from me, of course." I saw Preitus bow his head from the corner of my eye.

"That will not matter. I will be leaving tomorrow morn. Hmmm." My potential master reached out and pulled at my hair, causing it to fall down my shoulders, the wide curls billowing in an earthy-brown cloud around my vision. "I think I _will_ take her."

"Excellent," Preitus said smoothly. "I'm certain you will be satisfied, my lord. After all, she is untouched, as of yet."

"She may just remain so, too," my new master said, as one of Preitus' guards jostled me away from the other girls.

I was able to hang on to my awareness just until the man with the silver eyes was stepping forward to collect me. Then I slept, my dreams full of the fires of the forges and of girls in white robes.


	3. Guardian

Lyridus, the man with ice in his gaze, gathered me after I had succumbed to my exhaustion and his men carried me to the server's tents, where I was revived with water that cooled my overheated head. A sturdy, handsome woman of middle years fed me and gave me practical clothing, and educated me on my immediate future.

I was to travel still further. My master, Barak, had purchased me as a gift for his daughter, who awaited him some many leagues away in Thessaly. We spent the night in my master's friend's home, and we were up before dawn to make ready our master's horses and to pack all the necessary equipment for future camps, all under Lyridus' cool direction.

As we traveled, a woman named Ioanna was tasked with teaching me the fundamentals of the master's camp and of things my mistress would expect from me when we arrived at Barak's house. My pretty face would spare me the basest and roughest of labors, as my mother had predicted in a previous life, but that meant little rest and even less privacy. I was bought not only to serve, but also to be seen, and that meant I would be under the eye of my masters and their friends, always. I would bath and dress my mistress, keep her to a schedule set by her father, convey messages and deliver presents for her, gossip with her; Ioanna told me that many mistresses became good friends with their maids, laughed and cried with them. That gave me a sliver of resentful hope, as I did so miss my own sisters, but I fought to remain wise about my situation. I was still only a slave and I should not fool myself.

I was surprised to find friends on the road to Thessaly; Ioanna and the other two girls in my master's retinue passed jokes of the same kind that my sisters did, and it brought comfort to my heartbreak, starting my road to healing. The women were shameless in front of the serving men and the guards, flirting and calling to them in the easy times after sundown. I was careful to never overstep when the guards wished to involve me in their jokes. They'd heard I was inexperienced with men and were crass about the fact, and so I had replied that my knowledge was not so lacking as they might believe, which only made their laughter more raucous. And it didn't help that my figure regrew its softness under better nourishment, drawing more of the same unwanted attention. But still, I was not touched.

From afar, I watched my master Barak as he rode with his guards, speaking with them of many things and laughing nearly as much as his servants. Lyridus was never far from his side and his silver eyes were ever aware, like a falcon's, constantly scanning the terrain and looking each passerby in the eye. I felt myself fascinated by his unwavering attention, his never smiling face. He watched over his master like a mother lioness, knowing him capable of protecting himself, but aware all the same, just in case. Right now, he was standing on a small rise, Apollo's chariot beginning to fade from the sky in the west; his steady eyes were on Master Barak as he lounged in his saddle, waiting for his camp to be ready. What would bring about such a reaction from a man toward another?

"Syntyche, the rope!" Ioanna called to me, bringing my attention back to the task of pitching our master's tent. She watched me carefully, making me blush. "Hear me, girl," she told me under her breath. "Lyridus is a private man. He doesn't concern himself with the likes of us, other than to make sure we take care of the master. Forget him."

I could only nod, unsure of an appropriate response.

I met my beautiful mistress, Aello of Thessaly, daughter of Barak, in the morning of the following day. She was still youthful, the same age as my younger sister, Uma, but she was not so young. She greeted her father's return with laughter and kisses, bespeaking her youth, but she accept her gift that was me with a grace that displayed her growing maturity.

"Come, what is your name?" Aello asked me, when she was dismissed from her father.

"Syntyche, mistress," I replied.

"Syntyche," she repeated, leading me through the luscious yet efficient halls of her home. "What does it mean?"

"I... I don't know, mistress," I stuttered.

"Hmm... Well, whatever your name is, I'm glad to see you." Her smile was bright and confusing to me.

I learned quickly that Mistress Aello's temper was mild and she was a precocious, creative child, but she was quick to misunderstand and her attention to details of the material kind was astonishing, catching displeasurable changes to her environment with only a glance. Her upbringing lent her a limited amount of patience, but as to her character, she was not unkind. She was old enough to ride and care for her own horse and to have her own opinions about her wardrobe, but she still had the urges to run about the halls and kitchens, stealing treats and causing general mischief.

For her own part, she took to me as she would a favored pet. She would sometimes insist that I sleep in her bed with her, despite her growing older. She would involve me in her splash fights at the pond's edge with other girls of her age, and she would try her hand at braiding my hair, occasionally asking for instruction. She never went out of her home without me by her side, and though it was a formality that she be accompanied, she had many maids she could choose to escort her.

And on my own, I grew to love her even more than I did my sisters when I was still with them. I worried for her safety whenever she left me to ride her horses; I could not follow her, since the powerful beasts terrified me so. I was genuinely interested in whatever she took a liking to, finding little ways to please her with such toys and trivialities that I could find in my limited time away from her. Without provocation, I bettered my understanding of sewing so that her tastes in fashion never went unsatisfied.

One bright day, Aello was dozing in a long chair on her balcony outside her rooms while a harp player lulled her to sleep, when she surprised me by calling my name.

"Syntyche?"

"Yes, Mistress?" I answered, turning toward her with my stitching still in my hands.

"Do you think you will ever marry?"

I hesitated, taken aback.

Aello leaned up out of her chair to look at me.

"I don't know," I finally said. "I'm sure that is up to you."

Aello's face scrunched up, "But what if you find that a man loves you, and wishes to make you the mother of his children?"

I almost smiled at her naiveté, "It is not the way of the world to marry simply for love, Mistress, at least not for one such as me. Perhaps for you, though..."

"No," Aello sighed, readjusting herself in her seat. "I'm to be a pawn in men's politics. At least that is what Mother tells me. I will be married to someone who Father wishes to make a brother of; a friend, an enemy... only the Seers of Apollo know who."

I was reminded of what my own mother told me, long, long ago; about women making homes wherever they must.

Aello turned and smiled at me, her beautiful, white teeth diminishing her youth in my eyes. "Do you love me, Syntyche?"

"Of course I do, Mistress."

"Then I won't care so much who I marry, so long as I will have your love with me," she replied.

I smiled in return and Aello returned to her doze, I to my work.

So it was that I spent the entirety of my fifteenth year, watching over a young mistress and nourishing her to the best of my knowledge, seeing her blossom into a woman that had faults but could not be more perfect in my eyes if she tried. She was effortless and I loved her effortlessly.


	4. Simpleton

Aello only ever spoke of her mother with detachment, never with the familiarity that she used when she talked of her father or younger brother. Mistress Aphelia spent her time in the center of Thessaly, at the height of politics and gossip, and her husband did not seem to miss her, devoting his attention to his children, his men, his king, and his concubines.

Though she did appear on the eve of Aello's thirteenth birthday, flowing into the courtyard with her train of pleasure slaves, both male and female, whom I could not look upon without heat bruising my cheeks. They were all beautiful in body, hair and skins glistening, but their eyes were ever downcast and they answered every order with such cowardly, dog-like obedience... I could not help but thank the Fates, that I had not become one of their ranks. What would have happened to me, since I would have resisted such transformation with all my heart? Would I have even been allowed to live?

Aphelia moved from her litter and cooly greeted her husband before moving down the line to kiss her daughter and son on their heads, ignoring the rest of the household and sweeping past me and Ioanna to disappear into her rooms. Her many slaves followed her.

"I hear she is of the line of Pothos, who is the God of Longing and the son of Aphrodite," Ioanna told me as we prepared Aello's birthday celebration. "She is driven by the immortal lust flowing in her blood, destined to be forever unhappy with the desires of mortals. At least, that is what I hear."

And that story seemed to ring true, for Master Barak's wife could not be more different from her daughter. They looked so alike so that their shared blood could not be denied, but where Aello was bright-eyed and curious, Mistress Aphelia was dour and lazy. Where Aello was lively and kind, Mistress Aphelia was spiteful and was impossible to please. All day, I heard of the demands coming from her rooms and I was exceedingly glad that she was not my mistress, content with my own lot.

Even so, I could feel Mistress Aphelia's hard eyes on me throughout the celebration of Aello's birthday, feel her growing displeasure with every smile and laugh that Aello directed at me. My unease grew with her displeasure, aware of the way Aphelia observed every fact of me and saved them in her mind for calculation. However, I did not allow it to distress me as perhaps it should have; Aello's happiness with her birthday was distraction enough and then Aphelia did not spend much time with her daughter in the days after, which kept me out of her sight.

But then Aello was to go to market with Master Barak and her brother, Master Tarilles. It was customary for them to scout the horse market together at least five times a season, for Aello so loved the strength and agility of the animals, and her father loved to indulge her, something I could wholeheartedly empathize with.

I made ready to go with the party, as I always did, to watch and care for Aello. But as Aello and I were walking out into the courtyard to join her father, her mother called to her. I remained the respectful distance away as Aphelia whispered with her daughter, and it was suddenly the case that Aello should go with her father and brother's retinue only. It came without warning or explanation to my ears, and it wasn't my place to ask the questions that burned in my mind, so I watched her climb into the litter with her family, and the whole party moved on without me.

I was obliged to wait in Aello's rooms for her return, plagued with horrific visions of some fantastically strong horse on display at the market, suddenly being put upon by Poseidon's unpredictable nature to trample and murder young girls; distracted as I was, I could barely put my hands to repairing the stitching in my mistress' favorite saddle without getting up to pace the floor, wringing my hands and staring out the windows at the city in the close distance.

It was during one of my short periods of productivity, my capable fingers forcing thick needle through toughened leather, that the door opened and Ioanna appeared.

"The Mistress of the House wishes to see you, Syntyche," she said, her eyes wide with curiosity, but her mouth turned down in concern.

I'm sure my own face conveyed the same sentiments. "Is there anything the matter?" I asked quietly as I stood to follow her, for I wouldn't think to disobey the summons.

Ioanna shook her head, tight-lipped and anxious-faced. She didn't talk to me as she led me through the halls of the house, down the homey, familiar corridors until we arrived at Aphelia's rarely-used rooms.

The door was opened by a well-endowed woman with such creamy, dark brown skin that the white of her eyes was striking. Her hair had been shorn so close to her scalp that it was but a shadow on her head. Her features were broad and strong, graceful and smooth in the way that nature could be. I couldn't help but stare at her strange beauty for the moments that Ioanna conversed with her, but then as we were led deeper into Mistress Aphelia's rooms and I could feel again the pit of dread inside me, momentarily forgotten but so painfully reintroduced.

"Your daughter's handmaid, Mistress," Ioanna announced, her voice surely quavering with uncertainty. "She is named Syntyche, if it pleases you."

"Leave her with me." The mistress' voice was flat.

Ioanna bowed and left without another look at me.

I found that I couldn't lift my eyes from the floor, as I remembered Aphelia's hard looks which I'd received at Aello's birthday celebration, and I began to fearfully ponder on Aphelia's motives in making me stay behind while Aello went to market today.

"Bring her here," Aphelia commanded when the door had been shut behind Ioanna.

The exotically dark woman without hair took my wrist in her wide, warm hand and, kindly but firmly, led me forward.

I was placed in front of a small dais in the center of the many-windowed room. The sunlight shone in, warming lush fabrics and gleaming on statues and goblets and other such objects that displayed inordinate wealth. It created illusions of so much luxury that I felt I could suffocate in it. The many pleasure-slaves, of which I'd blushed upon seeing in the past, were placed all around, their fully performing bodies seemingly posed so as to put on the greatest of their attributes.

And Mistress Aphelia, so coldly and burningly elegant, like precious stones incarnate, lounged where she sat in the middle of it all. Her beautifully-shaped, dull eyes looked on me, dressed as I was in my sturdy, work-efficient gown. Then she suddenly turned fully towards me and leaned out to look at me, and I lowered my gaze once more, as was respectful, but she seized my chin in a hard hand, lifting my face for examination. I was instantly reminded of the day Master Barak had purchased me, that long long time ago, the blinding sunset in the background.

"How very plain you are," she sighed, releasing me. "Pretty enough, I should say, but so utterly boring."

I did not speak. Indeed, even if it were appropriate, I would not know what to say.

"How many men do you fuck, when the day is done?"

My shoulders jerked, my eyes snapping up and then down again, the question shocked me so.

She didn't expect an answer yet, continuing her question, "Does even my husband take pleasure from you, when my daughter is sleeping?"

"No, mistress," I answered, just loud enough to be heard but no louder. Her cool voice frightened me.

"How many more than Lyridus?" she asked, sitting back against the chest of one of her chiseled, fair-faced male slaves.

I openly gaped at her. "None... I mean, I'm virgin still, mistress. No man has touched me."

"Do not waste my time with lies, girl," the tone of her voice was bored.

I dropped to my knees at the accusation, putting my hands to the floor, "I would not dare, mistress! I would never lie to one of this household!" I could fairly feel tears burning behind my eyes now, but I kept my composure.

It was but a moment before the dark-skinned woman reached out and brought me back to my feet.

Aphelia's finely drawn brows had risen in skepticism, "Curious. I'd observed Lyridus at my daughter's birth celebration... I did not mistake his thoughts when he looked on you, of that I'm certain. The man's eyes had been far too _knowing._ "

Again, I could not utter a word. I remembered Lyridus standing behind his master's chair at the celebration, only feet away from where I'd knelt by my own mistress as she chattered and exclaimed over her presents. But in all reality, Aello had been my entire world for the year I'd spent around the man, and I'd never given him serious thought since those first days of travel to Thessaly. To be sure, I admired Lyridus whenever my thoughts crossed him, but it was always from afar; Ioanna's words about him there at the beginning had been sufficient in turning my concentration away from him permanently.

"Come now, girl," the mistress' tone had lost its patience. She glared at me in amused pity as she played with her slave's hands, pulling his arms about her like a shawl. "Your face and figure, plain though they may be, are enough to be called pretty even to mine eyes. How else would you have escaped the clutches of some wayward soldier, or some other guest of a general's house, if someone of consequence did not wish it so? That alone is cause for suspecting his lust for you."

I was a sight, I'm sure, my eyes and mouth like that of a fish made ready for a supper. Lyridus, the man with such steel in his long gaze and no smile to be had, lusting after an earthy, simple, skittish creature such as me, and not only that, but in secret when he surely could've ordered my submission? I'd never even spoken one word to him in my year under the same roof as his master, and only ever caught his eye when he glanced my way while searching for threats in the crowds of a celebration. The only conceivable explanation of all this was that perhaps Mistress Aphelia was mistaken when she saw Lyridus examining me, but far be it from me to say so.

Aphelia sighed, bored, "Even so, even if you were too stupid to recognize the secretive lust Lyridus has for you, I can not have such idealistic things around my daughter when she is of marrying age. Eyekk, call for Vabulle, and tell him to bring that disfigured thing I bought today!"

The dark skinned woman bowed low in response and left without a sound.

I was drowning in too much fear and confusion to even attempt to understand what Mistress Aphelia was implying. All I could manage was to keep my hands from shaking, holding them tightly together in front of me, staring at my white knuckles.

"Raspa, my dear," Aphelia spoke to the man she lounged against, "go organize things in the other room. I'll shortly be finished here." She gently kissed his full, soft mouth before gesturing for him to leave.

The majority of the beautiful slaves followed Raspa through a doorway, leaving only a handful of the taller, physically-imposing male slaves in the room surrounding the mistress's couch. From the corner of my downcast eyes, I could see them all beginning to undress before the door shut them in to await the daughter of Pothos.

"Eyekk, so efficient as always," Aphelia sighed in apparent relief and stood lithely, the gold on her arms jingling.

Eyekk had returned with a thin, whiplike man and a short, able-bodied woman. The man was bald and pale and dark-eyed, and I instantly feared the curl of his hand, the turn of his mouth. The woman was clearly trained in the same fashion as the rest of Aphelia's slaves, her shoulders and eyes forever bent downward. She was dressed rather ill, her hair pulled severely away from her face, which would've been pretty if it hadn't been ravaged by the disease that had ruined her complexion, the skin pockmarked and pink.

"Now," Aphelia addressed the exotic woman, "bring this one," she waved her hand at the poor, red-faced girl, "to Ioanna and tell her she will be replacing my daughter's handmaid. She should be instructed so as to disrupt Aello's comfort as little as possible. When you return, do not let anyone disrupt me until my husband has returned with my children. I'm sure Aello will have questions for me."

Eyekk silently bowed again, taking the slave girl's arm and leading her away.

"Vabulle," Aphelia now addressed the man, waved her hand at me this time, "I turn this girl over to you. See what you make of her. If you see potential in her, bring her back to me. If not, find a place to send her."

Vabulle bent down low, "Yes, mistress. I'm once again honored by the trust you show in my judgement."

Then Aphelia, without a look to spare for the life she'd irrevocably destroyed, walked away and left me in Vabulle's hateful hands.


	5. Temporary Take Down

I'm sorry to do this, but this chapter is temporarily taken down. I'm having troubles getting the next part of the story to go along with it, so I'm starting again from the end of _Simpleton._

Thanks for your patience.


End file.
